


Evaluation

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns For Reader, Gender-neutral Reader, Humor, M/M, Other, Protectiveness, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sam Wilson Protection Squad, Sam Wilson is a Gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 23:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15521526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Dating Sam Wilson is amazing. But one fact remains: if you wanna be his lover, you gotta get with his friends. His friends being a resurrected national icon, a formerly brainwashed super soldier, and a bombshell master spy. This’ll be…easy.And if it isn’t, you hope they make it quick.





	Evaluation

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: They/them pronouns for Reader, nervous/anxious Reader, the Sam Wilson Protection Squad doing what they do, mention of an ex-boyfriend Reader had before Sam
> 
> A/N: This fucker got way the hell away from me. Serious apologies for the word count. It is way too long but…I don’t care. I like it >_> Anyways, I love Sam Wilson and I’ve always been scared to write something centered around him because he’s more well-adjusted than most people I write about. But then there was this idea, and I couldn’t resist. Because I love Sam Wilson and I love the idea of Steve, Natasha, and Bucky being way, way too protective of him. Anyways; I hope you enjoy!

 

Waking up next to Sam Wilson is a dream come true.

Okay, so you’ve been seeing each other for a few months and it’s honestly all been wonderful in a way you’ve never felt before (and you are not going to over-think _that_ ) but this is a whole new stage of wonderful. Sam’s face is slack and the way he’s pressed into the pillows makes his half-hidden cheek puff out even more.

He’s so cute you can hardly believe it.

And he’s _yours_.

The urge to squeal over him, the night before, everything, is so overwhelming it turns into pure energy. You slip out of his bed (after giving him a quick kiss, of course) and go downstairs to start breakfast.

He’s out of bacon but there’s some sausage, just enough eggs, and some pancake mix. As far as things go, this is pretty foolproof. You get into it, singing to yourself and dancing around, but when you turn and see a woman standing there like a creepy glaring statue you almost have a heart attack and you almost _almost_ drop the bowl you’re mixing.

You stand there, catching your breath and trying to figure out if you should call for Sam to warn him or go to the phone for the police. The woman looks you up and down and you’re very, very aware that you’re wearing your giant sleep shirt. And absolutely nothing else. Whereas she is well-dressed, very pretty, and looking at you like she might kill you on principle. Sam hasn’t mentioned any obsessed ex-girlfriends, but you don’t know _what_ to think of how she’s looking at you.

“Man it smells good in h–!” Sam stops suddenly when he turns at the bottom of the stairs but he grins really big when he sees the woman. Really big. Really, really big.

Okay, fine, you’re mature enough to admit it: _too_ big.

“Natasha! When did you get back?” he says and goes to hug her. The name is familiar. Natasha. Na…tasha. Natasha, Natasha, Nata–

–sha Romanoff. Oh.

You let out a sigh of relief because Natasha is his friend and he hasn’t seen her, Steve ( _Rogers_ , as in _Captain America_ ), or Bucky (fucking _Sergeant Barnes_ ) in several weeks. It would have been months if he hadn’t gotten to poke his head into New York a couple of times, but you know he’s missed them nonetheless.

“Are Steve and Bucky all right?” he asks as they pull back.

“They’re fine, but we got in very early this morning.” She shrugs. “I’ll sleep tonight. I was going to surprise you, but, well…” Her sharp eyes alight on you with an intensity that makes you go back to fearing for your life.

Sam turns and his smile changes– it calms you. He was smiling at her with enthusiasm and relief; as someone who is glad to see his friend safe and sound. He smiles at you with an adoring fondness that takes your breath away. This man is going to be the death of you, and you’ll still count yourself lucky.

“C’mere baby,” he says and opens his arm. You go to him automatically but when you’re standing in front of her, you are again very conscious of what you are (and are not) wearing and where every single stain and hole is on your beloved old shirt.

Sam doesn’t seem to notice and introduces the two of you like the warm, sociable person he is. You eagerly extend your hand, anxious to meet one of Sam’s best friends. When she grips your hand, though, you have to bite down on a whine– she’s holding so tight you’re just waiting to hear your bones break. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says calmly. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Likewise,” you manage to say almost normally and hope that’s the end of it.

But she doesn’t let go. “You’re taking good care of him. Right?”

Thankfully Sam intervenes by pulling you closer. Natasha lets go and you melt into Sam’s side as he gives you a kiss. “Of course they do.”

“Good,” she says. You get the feeling this isn’t over. “I should let you two get back to your breakfast.”

“Hey, are you going to be in town for a little while?” Sam asks. “Maybe we can all get together for dinner.”

“Excellent idea,” Natasha says. “How about tonight?”

“It’s good for me.” Sam rubs your side. “You up for it?”

“Sounds great,” you say, without a single excuse to lean on.

“Good,” Natasha says curtly and turns to walk away. “I’ll text you the details.”

When she’s gone you breathe again. “You okay baby?” Sam asks and moves his hand to your back.

You discreetly massage your aching hand. “I’m fine. It was just– uh– a surprise.”

“Oh, right.” Sam smiles apologetically and tilts his head down and if he ever finds out just how adorable he is you are in _big trouble_. Well, big _ger_ trouble. “Sorry; I gave the three of them keys in case they ever need a place to lie low. Is that…are you okay with that?”

You have to laugh. “Sam, it’s your house. And they’re your friends. Who you are very close to.” And who you are going to be meeting for the first (and first proper) time _tonight_. Fuck.

Sam grins and pulls you right up against the front of his body. “This is gonna be great. I can’t wait to show you off,” he says, unaware of your growing internal panic. To be fair, you have hiding it down to an art. And to be fair to Sam, he’s good at calming you down without even knowing. Case in point– each kiss he gives you reduces the speed of your racing heart, and he keeps doing it. Too many more and you’re going to end up in a coma. _Worth it_ , you think, and catch his lips with yours.

“Good morning,” you say. “You got a taste for breakfast?”

“I got a taste for something all right.” He kisses you again. “I got a taste for you.”

A smile invades your face and it doesn’t feel like it’s going away any time soon. “Well, maybe you can squeeze some food in there first. I was ma–” The burning smell hits you like a malodorous brick and while you race to clean up the ruined sausage Sam just laughs like the un-helpful jerk he _totally is_. In return, you order him to get started on the eggs. And the toast. And stay on the other side of the stove.

“You sure you got that?” he teases for the _fifth_ time as you pour the _third_ pancake.

You scowl at him and wipe a bit of batter off your hand. “You know, I should get dressed. I’ve suddenly got a _lot_ to do today. Outside. Elsewhere.”

“Aw baby.” Suddenly he’s behind you, kissing your neck and shoulders. “I didn’t mean it; I promise I was just joking…”

But he’s laughing, and now so are you, even as you jab your elbow back into his ribs. “Damn you, Sam, you already ruined my sausage; don’t you dare fuck up my pancakes!”

“Oh, it’s _my_ fault, is it?” He plays up his hurt with a fake pout and shuffles away from you.

“It _is_ your fault,” you insist and flip the pancake. Flawless. Take _that_ , Sam Wilson. “You distracted me.”

“Hmm.” He smiles deviously. “Easily distracted by kisses. That’s good to know.”

“Like you didn’t know that already.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty smart,” he says, exaggeratedly braggadocios as he flips the spatula. Only, the eggs must not be _quite_ done yet, because some of them fly off the end and go right onto his cheek.

He stares stoically ahead but you lose it, and almost literally at that– you drop the ladle into the batter and have to bump the bowl onto the counter with your side to keep it from hitting the floor. You use both hands to try to smother your laughter, but it’s a losing battle. A small smile breaks out on his own face and he goes to wipe it off. “Wait, wait,” you say and grab his hand. It takes a few breaths for you to calm down enough to say (with a grin so big it hurts), “You’ve got egg on your face.”

He rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling too. “Yeah, I do.”

“As long as you know,” you say and lean in closer. You flick the piece of egg elsewhere and give the space a little lick. Sam turns his face to kiss you, and then…

By the time you get back to the food the eggs are rendered inedible and half the pancakes are cold, but somehow it’s still one of the best meals you’ve ever had.

 

 

 

All that good feeling flies away that evening as you stand in front of piles of clothes and yet also find out you apparently have nothing to wear. How are you still having this problem past your first date with Sam?

Think of the handsome devil– there’s knocking at your door, which you expected at some point, just not at _this_ point. You fly to answer it in a flurry of nervous energy and when you open up Sam is standing there, looking mildly surprised. “Oh no,” you moan and look for the nearest clock. “Is it time already?!”

You don’t mean to be so frantic but you can’t control it. Sam says your name, laughing gently, and grips your arms with the same sort of care you can hear in his voice. When he kisses your forehead you try to take on some of his calm. It doesn’t really work. “Relax,” he says and rubs up and down your arms. “I thought you’d be nervous so I came over early to hel–”

He catches sight of your bedroom and though you try to block it with your body he just moves you to the side and holds you there as he stares at the mess. He stifles his laughter but you can feel his body shake with the effort. “Shut up,” you say and shove his hand off you so you can cross your arms.

“Hey now,” he tries to say sternly but his smile is so enormous he can’t. “Are you dating me or my friends?”

“Stop laughing!” You flail your arms because you don’t know what to do with them. “They’re your best friends. I _need_ to make a good first impression.” And definitely a better second one.

Sam softens a little bit. “Aw baby, come here,” he says and pulls you into his arms. “You’re gonna be _fine_. Natasha’s sort of terrifying at first but she’ll warm up to you in no time.”

You sort of doubt Natasha could– or would– warm up to anybody on any timescale other than her own. You’re pretty sure your hand is going to be tender for at least another day to prove it.

“And Bucky’s got a hell of a resting murder face–”

Oh, _great_.

“–but he’s mostly just shy and cautious. Steve’s a great guy, and a real dork sometimes too.” Sam squeezes you. “And I’ll be right with you.”

That’s…well, a given, yes, but also reassuring. You're all important to Sam. At least, you very much want to be, and you can only hope they’re willing to give you a chance. They care about Sam, and Sam cares about you. You care about Sam, and Sam cares about them. One way or another, you’re all going to have to get along, because you’re not willing to give him up for anything.

You hope those three don’t put that to the test.

“Will you help me pick out an outfit?” you ask and step back.

“Okay,” Sam says and starts picking through the mess. Thank goodness you did your laundry. “But don’t worry baby; they’re gonna love you, and Natasha picked a great place. Not fancy but damn good food. Tonight’s gonna be great.”

 

 

 

While dinner is not going as terrible as you had feared, it is going about as well as you predicted. It is definitely not going ‘great.’

Bucky still hasn’t said a word to you (you don’t think you’ve yet heard him speak at all, actually) and he also hasn’t stopped glaring at you. No matter how Sam tries to ‘subtly’ elbow and admonish him. Natasha is polite but coldly so, and she keeps asking questions that draw a little of Sam’s ire away from Bucky on occasion. Steve, while sizing you up in his own way, is also still trying to _actually_ be polite, and thank Sam for telling you enough stories about Steve to keep you from being too awed by the man’s reputation. Granted, Sam told you some stories about Bucky and Natasha too but…they’re not working quite as well.

“Um…” you say, trying to initiate some conversation. “How long will you guys be in town for?”

“Trying to get rid of us already?” Natasha asks.

“No, no!” You get out your best reassuring smile. Well, the best one you can muster. “I know Sam’s really happy to have you here.”

“And you?”

You should know how to answer that, but the way she says it– harsh, narrowing her eyes and staring expectantly– trip you up. “Uhhhhh…”

“Damn it Natasha, not you too,” Sam says in exasperation.

As he goes about quietly scolding Bucky and Natasha, you and Steve shift uncomfortably. “So,” Steve says and clears his throat lightly, like he doesn’t want to draw anyone’s attention. “Natasha mentioned you were at Sam’s this morning. Are you…living together?”

“Oh no, no,” you say quickly and think fondly of the memory. Yes, just focus on better times; that will get you through this. “I was just spending the night.”

“You’re being careful, right?” Steve asks, flushing slightly.

“Um, of course. Always,” you say. Given how easily he’s blushing already you expect it to end there.

However the red tint disappears and Steve nods gravely. “That’s good to hear,” he says in what you can only imagine is the voice he uses while Captain America. “I had to do some PSAs for the army back in the day and let me tell you, the pictures they showed me…”

You realize with slow, creeping horror, and far, _far_ too late, that Bucky and Natasha were just the decoys, as Steve goes into a graphic and detailed history of venereal disease in World War Two.

 

 

 

You have most of your dinner in a box and Sam is walking you to your door. Despite the nerve-wracking meal, this is a ritual that sets you at ease.

“I am so sorry,” Sam says again.

“Sam. I told you, it’s fine,” you say and stop just outside your apartment to give him a quick kiss. Poor thing looks exhausted.

“Still,” he insists, because he’s stubborn like that. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them; they’re not normally like that.”

You shrug, because as smart as Sam is, he has to understand it on some level by now. “They’re your friends. They’re just…making sure you’re taken care of.”

He huffs and mutters, “Making sure I never get a partner ever again, more like.”

You laugh and wrap your free arm around him to pull him closer. “It’s okay.” You press a light kiss to his ridiculously soft lips. “I don’t scare that easy.”

His mouth curves into a smile and he leans in closer, and while he doesn’t _say_ ‘good,’ you can feel it in the way his lips move against yours, how he pulls you closer with his hands and tongue, drawing you in–

His phone sounds loudly with a default ringtone and vibrates hard enough that you both jump back. Your box falls to the ground but, thankfully, the food remains in the container. Sam checks his phone and as you grab your remainders he lets out a curse.

“Is everything all right?” you ask as you straighten up.

“Yeah.” But his sigh is heavy and he shoves his phone back in his pocket. More telling, he steps back from you. “I told Steve a thousand times he’s not allowed to use my stove without me around. So, naturally, that’s the first thing he does.”

You blink. “How is he still hungry?” Considering how much he ate ( _while discussing open sores_ , for fuck’s sake) you’re actually sort of impressed. And suspicious. Captain Rogers can fly a plane but can’t manage a stove? You don’t need to bring it up, you think; Sam looks antsy and given how exasperated he was with his friends earlier, he might just be itching for a chance to talk to them.

“Super soldier metabolism. It’s a hell of a thing,” Sam says and you let it be. You both trade one last kiss. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Mmm.” You squeeze his hand and let go to put your key in the lock. “If your house burns down, you know you can come stay with me.”

His smile makes your knees weak. “I guess Steve can use my stove anytime. Hell, I might buy him a cookbook and tell him to go for it.”

You laugh. “Well in the interest of saving your nice house, and your insurance rates, I’ll let you stay over anytime.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” he says with a wink. “G’night, baby.”

“Night, Sam,” you say and go inside so Sam can deal with his (hopefully metaphorical) fire. As you stand in the entryway, you look around, set your food on the kitchen counter, and go about picking up the place.

Just in case.

 

 

 

Over the next couple of weeks Sam tries to fit in his friends while still seeing you on the regular, as well as everything associated with his work. You’re not sure how he does it, since you have a hard enough time just scheduling him and the normal nonsense, let alone three needy superheroes.

You suppose it helps that they, as it turns out, like to drop in on _your_ time with Sam, thus saving him the trouble of penciling them in. How considerate. Whether it’s a walk in the park, a matinee showing at the dollar theater, or a time out at a food truck street fair; hell, even a stolen moment together in a _library_ gathers three human (or super human) sized growths. It’s a little trying at first, and Sam is _not_ happy with their flimsy excuses, but it sort of becomes…funny.

You doubt it’s their intention to become less intimidating by showing what needy children they can be, but you’re fond of the silver linings. Especially the ones that end up with a book on Bucky’s head, ice cream splattered on Steve’s shirt, and popcorn in Natasha’s hair.

But then, there’s one week in particular that begins with a spiral and ends with a controlled landing.

 

 

 

“Goddamn it,” Sam swears when he sees Steve lurking in a hoodie and hat at a stall at the farmer’s market. You stifle a laugh at the look of fake-surprise on Steve’s face and the bright smile that follows.

“Hey Sam!” Steve says, practically radiating sunshine. You hate that no one else would ever believe you if you told them what a giant smug jerk Captain America could be. It’s hilarious, really, and would be more so if it wasn’t aimed constantly at you and Sam.

“Fancy seeing you here, Steve,” Sam says tightly. “Thought you moved back to _Brooklyn_.”

“Well I like to visit.” Steve’s pout is…surprisingly effective. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Sam puts his face in his hand and swears profusely. You have to fake an allergic fit to keep from laughing out loud.

 

 

The next day you’re getting as close to Sam as the patio chairs will allow you at this dumb yuppie breakfast place, when someone slides into the seat across from you. Sam leans back to look and groans. “Nat–”

She fixes him with a glare and flips open a menu. He fumes but sits back in his chair, because Sam Wilson is a great many things, but ‘stupid’ isn’t one of them.

Natasha actually makes pleasant conversation with the both of you, though she needles Sam just enough to keep him on edge. You consider Steve from the previous day, Natasha now, and figure it’s a foregone conclusion that you’ll be seeing Bucky tomorrow.

 

 

Surprise surprise.

“What the hell is–” Sam bats off a piece of popcorn and looks over his shoulder to see who has been throwing popcorn at you for the past two minutes of your attempted make-out session. You sigh and slump in your seat. The movie sucks, but it was cheap, and there are only a few other people in the theater with you so you’d really like to be channeling your inner teenager right now. Only, a certain geriatric cyborg seems to have a problem with that.

“Oh I am gonna–” Sam hisses out some curses and gets up. You try to stop him but he’s too damn stubborn for his own good and keeps going. You roll your eyes and half-watch the movie, half-listen in on a conversation too low to hear. Their squabbling is too much for the other patrons though and eventually an underpaid wheezy teenage usher comes to shoo them out. You’re not sure how he does it, but Sam and Bucky do leave. Probably to take the old married couple argument outside where they can bicker freely.

Sam stops by your aisle and holds up five fingers. You wave him on. As Bucky passes by, though, you snap your fingers to get his attention. When he looks at you, you hold out your hand and make a ‘gimme’ motion. He snorts and reaches over to hand you the popcorn bucket. You snatch it away from him and sit and watch dumb people get murdered for the next twenty minutes.

You think you know why they’re doing this, and while you’re eager to have Sam to yourself again, you can’t help but dread the day when the reason for all this comes to pass.

 

 

 

You get one day of peace that isn’t really so peaceful considering you and Sam keep looking over your shoulders just waiting for someone to pop in. Still, after work you and Sam get to have a nice night to yourselves considering you both have the next day off of work. Sam comes to your house with an overnight bag and the two of you have a nice dinner in, watch some movies to wind down, and enjoy one another’s company in bed before going to sleep.

You wake suddenly when the bed shakes.

“Ri…Riley!”

You sit up and flick the little bedside lamp on. Sam is visibly sweating and you think you see tears streaming from his eyes, but his face is too wet to tell. He whimpers and you lean over him, unsure of what to do. You’ve only dealt with one of Sam’s nightmares before, and he woke up on his own right after you did. “Sam?” you whisper and rest your hand on his clammy arm. “Sam,” you say, low but a bit more normal.

Sam’s eyes open and dart from place to place, taking in his surroundings. He’s breathing heavily but he recognizes the room and some of the tension in his body leaves. His puts his hand on yours and whispers your name several times as he grips your hand so tight.

“I’m here, Sam, I’m here,” you say softly and let him breathe deep and steady. “Do you…can I do anything?”

He sighs and sits up, looking utterly exhausted. As well he should. You’re barely two hours into the day and he already has to bear the full weight of it. “No baby, I’m all right,” he says, not at all sounding like he’s pretending to actually be all right. He slides his legs out of bed and rises slowly. “I’m gonna get a glass of water and wipe down. You go back to sleep.”

As he shuffles off to the kitchen you take a look at his sweat-soaked spot in bed and roll your eyes. You get out of bed and, as quickly as you can, change the sheets. You’re just fluffing up the pillows when Sam comes back in, a little drier, and a little more awake. He takes in the sight and smiles wryly at you.

“Um…nice fresh sheets,” you say. “They’ll feel good.”

Sam’s smile becomes a little more relaxed, and then he ruins it by mocking an appraising look, complete with chin-stroking. “Hm. It’s a little messy…”

You stand straight and set your hands on your hips. “It is two-thirty in the fucking morning. If you want hospital corners you are welcome to have at.”

He chuckles and walks over to kiss you. He stands a distance farther than you're used to and you can feel some sweat still on his face. “Yeah, I don’t want to mess up those nice sheets. I’ll just–”

“–Take a cool shower,” you say. “It might make you feel a little better.”

You have no idea if that was the right thing to say. But Sam’s face relaxes a little bit more and he drops the fake smile. “You sure? I’ll be a lot more peaceful out on the couch.”

“Sam if I cared about peaceful I would have bailed the second I turned and a scary Russian assassin was glaring at me as I made breakfast in your kitchen.” You take his hand and kiss it. “I don’t care about peaceful. I care about you. So…take a shower and come back.”

“All right. I know how to take an order.” He smiles just a little and takes your hand for a kiss. “Go to bed, baby.”

“Okay,” you say and slip into bed while he goes to the bathroom. You turn off the light and wait, listening to the water run in the bathroom, and then to the quiet as he dries off.

And then he emerges and slips into his side of the bed, cleaner, calmer, but keeping a body-width distance in between you. “I shoulda known you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Technically I did. You said ‘go to bed,’ not ‘go to sleep,’” you say and snuggle into your pillow.

“Stubborn,” he mutters.

“We have a lot in common like that.”

He chuckles weakly but there’s a tense silence there. He’s not going to talk, and you don’t know what to say. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to be touched either, but he also looks…hesitant. A little lonely. Maybe like he needs to ask something and doesn’t know how. You don’t know what to do, what to say, and you don’t want to overstep, so you put your hand up on the empty pillow space in between the two of you, shut your eyes, and say, “Night, Sam.”

After a few seconds his hand alights on yours, then grips more and more, until he’s holding you like a lifeline. He breathes, truly breathes, and though you know he’s far from sleep when he tells you good night, you allow yourself to drift off.

Sam is sleeping when you wake up and it’s a relief. Even if he’s only gotten five minutes, it’s five minutes more than you expected. The day looms ahead but you put on a brave face, because Sam is going to really need you, and you really need to be there for him. Almost as much for yourself as for him. You fortify yourself and figure that breakfast seems like a good idea, despite your roiling stomach, and so you go into the kitchen.

To find the Unholy Trinity already making themselves right at home.

You gawk for a moment at Steve and Bucky fighting over the can of biscuit dough, and Natasha, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and sipping calmly like there isn’t a super soldier wrestling match occurring right in front of her.

You look at the door. The windows. Nothing looks broken and when you look back at them they’re all staring at you. You can only sputter. “B–wh– _how_?!”

Bucky and Natasha form smirks so wicked you immediately regret asking. Arms slide around your waist and you lean back to meet Sam as he pushes in. “They’re shifty like that,” he says and gives you a kiss.

“Morning, Sam,” Natasha says and the boys parrot her. There’s a loud pop that makes you and Sam jump, and Sam’s arms tighten around you almost painfully.

Steve grimaces and looks at the floor. “Oops…”

Sam sags and you rub his hands. “There’s oatmeal in the cupboard. Probably enough for everyone,” you suggest and as Steve and Bucky get to work making something that won't trigger a heart attack, you lean your head back and whisper, “How are you feeling?”

“As good as I can be,” he murmurs honestly. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re up for _them_?”

It’s partially a joke. Bucky and Steve are arguing again, and Natasha is purposefully ignoring the two of you. “I’ve come to terms with the fact that if I want you, I have to take them too. You’re a package deal,” you say, also only half-joking, and you kiss his cheek. More seriously you add, “I’m here, Sam. As long as you want me, I’m here. That means for everything.”

He grips your stomach tighter and buries his face in your shoulder. He gathers himself back together marvelously well, though, and goes to harass Steve and Bucky as they attempt the incredibly minor job of cooking oatmeal. You roll your eyes and go back to your bedroom to get your most important task taken care of.

Sam comes in just as you’ve picked your outfit for the day and looks at the clothes all over the floor. “Is this something you do _every_ time you get dressed?”

“Har har,” you say and toss a shirt at his head.

He catches it and tosses it onto another pile. “Breakfast is ready. But seriously,” he says and helps you up. “What’s all this for?”

“I like to make a good first impression on your friends,” you say. “You know that.”

Sam softens, and you both take a moment to embrace. He squeezes you against his body and you hold him just as tightly, for as long as he needs. The rest of the morning is mostly spent in grim silence– except for that moment where Steve realizes he has a glob of oatmeal in his hair and washes it out while swearing a bluestreak at the rest of you for taking sneaky pictures and not telling him. But after that, even, you all quietly pile into the SUV Steve has rented and go to visit Riley. Sam holds your hand for the rest of the day, and you don’t let go until he’s ready.

 

 

 

While your relationship with Sam’s friends does even out after that, your own past comes to bite you in an exceedingly uncomfortable way.

You’re out at a bar with Bucky and Sam. Bucky has been brooding all day, since he was left out of a potential issue that has only a few of the Avengers on hand as a ‘just in case’ measure. Steve, Natasha, and Clint are the only ones assembling in the hopes that more won't be needed. Bucky hasn’t yet been separated from Steve though, even on potential missions, and it’s left him grumpy to the point where he and Sam were needling each other almost too earnestly before you decreed you were all getting out for the night. Now, with the distraction of food and drinks and just enough noise not to set the two vets on edge, they’re both starting to relax.

Before you can pat yourself on the back, though, a voice calls your name and makes you freeze.

“Baby?” Sam asks and even Bucky glances up. As the last man you ever wanted to see again approaches you steadily, you reach under the table for Sam’s hand and pull it to your other side. Sam gets the hint and holds your hip.

“Hey there, _sweetie_ ,” your more recent ex drawls sarcastically as he leans on the table next to you. You wince at the ‘endearment’. Bucky glares at him and scoots the basket of chips away.

“You need something?” you say, trying to be as flat and emotionless as you can.

“Why are you being so cold? I just came to say hi,” he says and looms over you. You can smell the alcohol on him and even though logically you’re in a bar, you’ve been smelling it all evening, and you are with two of the most capable people in the world, it still makes you want to throw up a little.

“Why don’t you move along,” Sam says with too much of an edge to be a real suggestion.

Your ex sneers at him and the nausea gets stronger. You barely keep yourself from shaking. “I wasn’t talking to you, so why don’t _you_ shove it up your–”

“Sam?”

“Hey, Max. Kyle,” Sam says, a little more friendly. The shadow pulls back and you can breathe a little easier. “This your friend?”

“Yeah, yeah; sorry man. We’ll just be going,” one of the men says.

“Hey, I wasn’t done…!”

His voice fades into the crowd as they take him away, but you can’t lift your head for a few minutes, even with Sam sitting right beside you, holding you. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, right next to your ear. You flinch, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Is it okay if we go get some air or do you want to stay here?”

It takes you a moment, but you finally manage to say, “Air.”

“Okay.”

Somehow, you don’t remember how, you end up outside, leaning against a wall and blinking at Sam. “Baby…”

“Sorry. Sorry,” you say and take a deep breath. You crinkle your noise at the smell of a dumpster. “Thought you said we were getting air?”

Sam’s smile shines even in the dim light. “I never said fresh air.”

You force a laugh, then immediately say, “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Sam runs his hand up and down your arm. “Bad ex?”

“Yeah.” You don’t want to get into it.

Sam continues to be more than perfect, and doesn’t press. “Anything I need to look out for?”

“No. He’s just– he’s a loser.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “And so was I. I’m not…proud of how I was with him. I mean, not that I’m much better now, but I try to be, so…”

Sam grips your arms. “You’re a hell of a lot to me.”

You wrap your arms around him and let them hang loosely. “And that– that’s something special,” you say and force a smile. “While I try not to hang _all_ of my self-worth onto other people…you are an amazing person, Sam Wilson, and if there’s something _I_ can give to you, then that makes me undeniably worthwhile.”

His expression softens as he leans in to give you a kiss. “You know you’re worth more than that, right?”

“I do. Mostly.” You give a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. “I’m working on it.”

“Good,” he says and you both share one more kiss. You feel exhausted, but when he says, “Let’s go save Barnes from the inevitable group of barflies.”

“No need,” Bucky says, suddenly next to you. He holds out your stuff, which you and Sam quickly grab. Bucky shuffles a bit and looks down. “Sorry. It got loud.”

“It’s all right,” Sam says. “You pay?”

Bucky looks so pissy and offended he might as well be swinging a white glove he intends to smack Sam with. “Of course I paid. What kind of question is that?”

Sam puts his hands up, but that face– that face is trouble. “I’m just asking. After ‘Wild Rose’ and all–”

“We were trying to catch a–”

“Hey!” you say cheerfully. Thank God they both shut up. “Since you paid for the drinks, Bucky, Sam will pay for the ice cream on our way home.”

“Oh I will?” he raises an eyebrow. “And what are you supplying tonight?”

“The apartment where we will then eat said ice cream and watch the absolute worst action movies we can find,” you say.

Sam and Bucky share a look, and then: “Sounds good,” and ‘nod’ respectively.

Later that night you text Steve and Natasha that you got Bucky and Sam to agree on something. Steve sends back the most intricate string of emojis you’ve ever seen, while Natasha replies with ‘pics or didn’t happen’. You consider sending her the picture of Bucky and Sam, passed out and leaning against each other, but you decide against it. It’s going to make great blackmail material someday, and it’s all yours.

 

 

 

A few days later you’re stopping by the market just to grab a few things when you see your ex walking down the aisle towards you. You stop dead in your tracks and consider running away, because dignity? What dignity? But yeah, it fucking figures that now you’ve seen him once you will start seeing him all over the Goddamn place. Thanks a lot, universe.

He looks up and sees you and you brace yourself, but his eyes go wide and he…runs away. Literally. He turns and bolts when you (you check to make sure) are completely alone. Sure, alcohol makes him bold, but he’s an egocentric asshole without it too.

“Weird,” you mutter, but it’s a good kind of weird, and you go about your shopping.

 

You arrive at Sam’s place to see Sam in the kitchen, getting things out, and Bucky on the couch, watching TV. He looks a mess, and it’s sad.

Once you’ve set your things down and greeted Sam, you go to stand in front of Bucky. He peers around you to keep watching TV. You move in front of him again. “Bucky, do you own a hairbrush?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever use it?”

He scowls at you, but you’re pretty well inoculated to that expression by now. “Yes,” he says eventually and glares at Sam as Sam cracks up. You roll your eyes at both of them and go to get your brand-new hairbrush out of its packaging.

Bucky stiffens as you start but it’s a nice brush with soft bristles, and soon you get his hair untangled, soft, and pulled into a little bun. So sue you; it suits him. “Are you staying for dinner, Bucky?” you ask.

Bucky turns his head and makes heartbreaking puppy eyes at Sam. “Man, don’t look at me like that. Those should be illegal,” he says. Sam looks at you. “Do you mind?”

“Nope! I got enough stuff to make pizzas just in case,” you say and go to wash your hands. You and Sam prep the pizza and Bucky stays out of your way. The same cannot be said for Sam, who is supposedly helping, but who just keeps bumping into you ‘on accident’ (‘on accident’ your ass) and giving you kisses. While the act is nice, you’re fucking hungry, so you banish him to sit on the other side of the counter, where Bucky is also not helping but also not getting in the way.

“Oh. It was weird– I saw my ex at the store today,” you say as you finish up topping the last couple of pizzas.

Sam and Bucky both give you their full attention. “Did he bother you?” Sam asks, a dark promise in his voice if the answer is ‘yes’.

“No, actually. It was so weird, he, uh…ran away.” You smile at Sam. “I don’t know why, but it was really cool. I just wanted to share; maybe when he’s sober he’s not such an idiot.”

“Huh,” Sam says mildly, but you go back to finishing the pizza.

Then you hear…well, you’re not sure what you hear. Aborted whispers? Hands moving in the air? You catch Sam and Bucky glaring and making rude gestures at points, but when they see you watching they stop and pretend to behave. When you’re done you wipe your hands. “Are you two arguing?”

“No,” they both say too harshly for the answer to be anything other than ‘yes.’

You’re going to get a headache from how often you roll your eyes at them, but such is your life now. You shove the oven mitts in Sam’s hands and stretch on your tiptoes over the counter to give him a kiss. “Since you’re not busy arguing through obscene hand gestures, put the pizzas in the oven while I go change.”

“You got it,” Sam says and Bucky salutes.

You flip them both off and walk away, but you manage to catch Bucky saying, “I like them,” before you disappear upstairs.

You do a little victory dance.

 

 

 

That night you and Sam are tucked away in bed but you’re still riding high from a very good day.

“So.” Sam rests his head on your shoulder. “You’ve got a unanimous seal of approval. How’s it feel?”

“Pretty great,” you admit. But you poke his nose and say, “Yours is still the best, though.”

He smiles at you and, yeah, you have your issues. But you’re working on them, and Sam is working on his, and if he thinks that he deserves you, then maybe, just maybe, you deserve him too. You lean in to kiss him, and then you both snuggle back into bed.

“And just think,” Sam says. “If you can handle those three, you can handle anybody. Meeting my family is going to be a piece of cake.”

You freeze. Meeting Sam’s family. Meeting Sam’s _mom_. Oh fuck…

“And since we’ll be in New York, we can stop by and have you meet the rest of the Avengers–”

“Sam,” you say, exhausted at the thought. “Shut up. Please.”

He stares at you for a moment– then grins wickedly. “Make me.”

You aim to please.


End file.
